My new pop-top house.
I’ve always counted myself lucky to have worked as a copy editor in some of the coolest historic spaces in Des Moines: the Butler Mansion on Fleur, the Hohberger Building in the East Village, and Two Rivers Marketing, once a 1935 General Motors warehouse, also in the Village.
As interesting as my previous workplaces are, none had a helicopter landing pad.
Walking past the MercyOne Air Med on my way into work never gets old.
In my wildest dreams, I never imagined that the end side of my career would take me inside of a hospital and outside of marketing. But with luck, I landed a part-time temporary job at the Ronald McDonald House (RMH) inside MercyOne Hospital at 6th and University. Staff at both the Blank and Mercy houses were expecting, calling for some extra “house mom” help. There were big red shoes to fill.
I was familiar with the RMH House near Blank Children’s Hospital. But my new gig took me to the fourth floor of MercyOne, one floor above Pediatrics and the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU). The pandemic hit shortly after the MercyOne House opening, possibly reducing its community visibility and tour opportunities. The two houses operate with slight differences because of the different hospital affiliations.
As a new hire, my professional vocabulary transitioned quickly from PDF (portable document file) to PICU and NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit).
In my marketing career, I never tired of my unique surroundings or took them for granted. In my short time at MercyOne, I find walking the quick steps from the parking lot to the main entrance, past the Mercy helicopter, extraordinarily humbling. The same feeling washes over me every time I encounter a patient on a gurney in the hallway or elevator or when I hear a trauma code announced over the hospital PA.
Every workday reminds me: Heroes work here.
Hospitals sometimes make the news when mistakes are made. Perhaps less circulated are the stories of healing, recovery, going home, and the amazing human beings behind those everyday successes (and behind-the-scenes looks at those working to keep families close when they need it most).
As a marketing copy editor, my greatest fear was a typo in our client work. Within hospital walls, greater concerns surface.
The main hospital entrance closes at 7 pm. So my exit on the occasional night shift takes me through the ER room and the sight of an often full waiting room with patients in clear distress, in wheelchairs, parents cradling sick children, and always busy staff. Any challenges my day presented fade fast.
One evening shift in the MercyOne House, I trailed a young couple in the hallway. They were walking slowly, hand in hand. It was the sweetest sight. I’d learn later that they lived out of state. Their Iowa surrogate had delivered early, prompting their stay to be near their newborn. Every family has a story. And the RMH mission is to help keep those families close, whether it’s for a few hours, days, or months.
Guests are invited to share their stories on boards outside their rooms.
Decades ago most families in these circumstances camped out on hospital benches and in crowded waiting rooms to be near sick kids. But in 1974, Philadelphia Eagles tight end Fred Hill’s 3-year-old daughter was being treated for leukemia. After he and his wife watched other families of seriously ill children in a similar situation, they dreamed of a way to help.
The manager of the Eagles, the head of pediatric oncology, a local McDonald’s ad agency, and many others built on the dream. Nearly a half century later, I doubt anyone could have imagined the legacy of this team effort.
A premature birth brings many families to the House in MercyOne. At check-in, they’re given a plaid RMH branded welcome bag that includes things like miniature clothes, doll-size diapers, wipes, knitted hats, itty-bitty socks, a soft fleece or knit blanket, a water bottle, and a deck of playing cards.
Bags for newborn baby boys and girls await new guests at check-in.
As someone who has labored with words for a living, finding the right words to support the young moms, dads, and foster parents can be tough. Some are far from home and their support networks, including recent guests, a couple from India here on student visas. Some families are separated from other children being cared for by family and friends back home. There are goals for preemies to gain weight, take a bottle, get off of oxygen, pass a carseat test. Ups and downs. Good days, bad days, sleepless nights.
The guests I met were always so kind and appreciative of the house and its services that it would sometimes be easy to forget how stress-filled their daily lives were, some with months-long stays.
Any trepidation I felt at taking on this job responsibility had to be routinely tamped down. Thinking about the bigger-picture team here — visitor check-in, information, security, social workers, doctors, nurses, aides, chaplains, IT, techs, maintenance — helped put my duties in perspective. If these hospital heroes could steady their hands and hearts, often under immense pressure, I needed to do my best from my small corner of this new world.
A door buzz one night brought my first solo guest check-in. My niece, a mom/baby nurse, delivered mom and dad to our door. My husband’s aunt works visitor check-in, and seeing her on a regular basis was an unexpected perk. A good friend started at the house shortly after I did. While we work opposite shifts, we cross paths and have been known to “zone clean” together. The job unexpectedly brought me closer to family and friends.
Outside the door of the RMH in MercyOne: House manager Kaitlyn, friend/coworker Sue, and me in our Raygun tees.
On one shift, I met a child life specialist from Peds. Her job, I learned, is to help ease a child’s fear and anxiety and to explain tests, surgeries, and other procedures ahead of time.
Part of my job involves cleaning and turning rooms, and laundering guest bedding and towels. I’m a mom. I’ve got this, right? But I quickly learned it’s different on a 17-bedroom floor. Thank goodness for volunteers, bleach, and detailed cleaning instructions.
View from a RMH guest room at MercyOne. Beds are made with hotel corners.
Part of the appeal of this assignment may be because my husband and I are empty nesters. Here, for a few hours a day, a few days a week, I can put on my mom hat to help put a meal on the table or encourage a nervous couple heading home with their newborn.
More than once I complimented the staff when I said that they “run a tight ship.” I assure you that this nonprofit does. Caring and professional, they make the most of every donation and volunteer. And I have to single out my rising-star manager, Kaitlyn, for keeping the house up and running smoothly while trying to get me and others up and running. She and Beth from the Blank House are my two lifelines or phone-a-friends when I need answers, reassurance, or help troubleshooting.
Writing thank-you notes for generous donations of sweet baby blankets, baked goods, dinners, and pop tabs is part of the job.
Referrals to stay must come from nurses or social workers: Diagnoses range from premature birth and respiratory illness to cancer, trauma, and unknown illnesses, surgery, and substance withdrawal. Keeping families close isn’t always easy. But in my experience, the staff works diligently within its global rules to support every family.
There’s a suggested $10 a night donation. But no family is turned away for inability to pay. And the actual cost to stay is much higher. Both houses have funds for those unable to afford the $10 room key deposit.
To stay, guests must pass a third-party background check. The Mercy RMH is on a secure floor where entry requires key card access, and it’s staffed 24/7. In some ways, it functions like a hotel.
Most nights a volunteer meal provider team meets at the Blank House to cook for both houses, roughly 40 mouths, depending on fluctuating occupancy. A portion of the food stays there, a portion gets delivered to the MercyOne House. Rolling a big cart to the main entrance to pick up dinner, I load up lasagna, grilled chicken, salads, burritos, turkey, whatever is on that night’s menu. Leftovers become next-day grab-and-go lunches. Just like home, there’s the occasional leftover dinner night.
Around 6 pm, the same rolling cart gets loaded with meals and snacks for families on the Pediatrics floor below.
Volunteers show great initiative, often taking the lead in getting 6 pm dinner on the table.
For anyone like me who struggles to keep their fridge clean and wastefree, consider that the MercyOne House has six refrigerators, including one for breast milk and one for leftovers.
Friday night is pizza night, with complimentary pizzas from Northern Lights or Papa Murphy’s. Who doesn’t love pizza night?
From the Casserole Club to the many corporate and individual sponsors, you quickly get a sense of the community’s support and generosity.
Countless individuals support Ronald McDonald House and its mission. I’ve always enjoyed the occasional Filet-O-Fish meal. And I’m more than happy to support McDonald’s for their good work with the Ronald McDonald House Charities of Central Iowa.
There’s no shortage of deserving nonprofits vying for our volunteer time and donor dollars. But if you’re interested in helping the Ronald McDonald Houses of Iowa, check this out.
In my marketing career, I was fortunate to work on many respected global brands. I’m thankful the Ronald McDonald House enables me to be a small part of the keeping families close mission.
My status as a part-time temp house mom may be changing to permanent. I’m grateful for a privileged look inside and the joy of taking a few special “Going Home'' photos. I hope that all guests past and present and their families stay strong and thrive.
© 2022 by Catherine Broderick Medina
